


Give Me Away

by TheNevemore



Category: GOT7, K-pop
Genre: Grieving, Loss, M/M, Moving On, kind of fluffy too?, mentioned other ships, sad but hopeful, the major character death is implied but never really...overt?, why do I always kill the things I love...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:25:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7521928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNevemore/pseuds/TheNevemore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark tries to put his life back together again, as best he can. It's what Jackson would want him to do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me Away

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the poem by Merit Malloy, which is there at the end. I've been struggling a lot with my depression - like holy cow so bad - to the point where I've just...not been able to write. I've thought nobody cared about what I write and just not really had any motivation. But, today... I dunno. I just felt like writing this. It's rough and unbetaed and probably a mess. But it's complete. So there's that.  
> Hope you enjoyed.

It had been so much easier, back then. To laugh, to run, to seek the sunshine warmth of outside. To live. It had been so much easier. Easy, hard – what did it matter? He could just imagine Jackson, his dark eyes bright with repressed laughter, squeaking out in his best Yoda impersonation, “Do or do not, there is no try” before falling into peals of giggles. Jackson loved that quote. He always said it gave him the strength to mess up, because it wasn’t any of that wishy-washy you-did-your-best ilk. He liked to make mistakes – make them big – so at least he learned something from it. Mark… Mark didn’t know how to live like that. He was quiet, careful, precise. Timid, even. It was Jackson, who was larger than life in every way imaginable, that had pushed him to be more, to do more, than he would ever do on his own.

Do or do not. Simple enough. Right?

Drawing in a shuddering breath, the blond pulled on a hoodie and a pair of tennis shoes so worn the soles nearly flapped with each dragging step. He pulled himself outside, squinting up at the morning sun, before trudging down the staircase. Outside. Check. Wandering steps drew him to the park: He drew in a shuddering sigh. Even though it was a spring morning instead of a summer night, his mind played it all out perfectly. Dressing up in his best “casual” outfit, styling his hair back, walking to the park – all to meet the blind date Hani had assured him would treat him right. And then seeing Jackson, standing in the middle of a group of kids running around – arms waving over his head – as he giggled like a possessed hyena. Mark had felt his heart stutter that very first moment. Jackson was beautiful covered with grass stains and sweat, even as he apologized profusely for not looking his best. Mark had responded by lifting a hand, mussing up his hair, and asking Jackson if the kids’ game could use one more player.

But now, the park was muted. Sure, there were kids playing off on the swings – he could hear their laughter in the distance – but everything seemed dimmer. Darker, somehow. Moving along the sidewalk, he wound his way to their bench and collapsed on it, limbs sprawling in every direction. He was lost in his thoughts until he felt an incessant tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he found himself staring into a pair of brilliant, dark eyes – large, round, almost familiar. A breath shuddered from his lungs. Mark blinked. The kid blinked. “Um, yeah?” _Wow Mark,_ he thought, _you’re so articulate. Idiot._ Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at himself, he sat a little straighter on the bench. “You need something?”

The little boy rocked back and forth on his feet, making the little bunny ears sewn into the hood of his jacket swing with the motion. “Wanna play?” He held up a soccer ball, round eyes hopeful as he gazed up at Mark.

The words ‘no thanks’ had all but spilled from his lips when he stopped short. “Sure.” Moving to his feet, he started for the nearby grass. “That’s an awful big ball, though. You sure you can kick it?”

A tiny bit of a smile tugged at his lips when the boy huffed at him. “I’m a big boy,” he protested, his slightly too big front teeth poking out a little. “Mommy said so.”

“Did she?” Mark looked over and spotted a woman watching them like a hawk from a nearby bench. He nodded to her before turning his attention back to the boy. “Y’know, my best friend in the whole world loved to play ball in the park.”

“Yeah?” The boy put the ball down and gave it a very determined kick. It rolled a couple of feet before stopping short of where Mark stood.

“Yeah.” Walking over, Mark gently kicked it back. “He taught me how to be good at kicking – I was terrible at it before I met him. Want me to teach you how?” The boy’s smile was blinding.

\---

Mark had stopped crying after the first three months. That was progress, he told himself. But sometimes…sometimes that urge came back. He just felt so much and yet nothing at all, and all he wanted to do was let it all out somehow. Crying...crying was a safe way to do it. To feel. Crying didn’t hurt anybody, like drinking or drugs or mindless sex would. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The morning after a good cry, he always woke up with swollen eyes and a sore throat, but at least the damage was minimal. Somedays, though, he still felt that desperate need to wail at the heavens, to mourn everything he had lost.

It was a simple enough Tuesday. He had been back at work, doing his best to make it through the day, when one of his co-workers had gotten a phone call. Yerin was a nice girl – bright smiles and willing to make a fool of herself to make someone laugh – but Mark had never really talked to her before. He was too shy to really put himself out there. But, over the year they’d known each other, she had tried her best to reach out to him. It was nice. That day, though, he heard her gasp from where he sat in his little cubicle, and then came the distinct sound of choking gasps and stuttered tears. Rolling his chair back, Mark had looked over only to see her with her phone pressed to her chest and her fist stuffed in her mouth. Tears were tracing down her cheeks. He hesitated. Surely, he thought, she would want to be alone with her upset rather than bothered by someone he barely knew.

But then, at the edge of his mind, came a memory. A hard day in class, a low grade on a paper, and a pair of warm, strong arms curling around him. He could even remember the smell of cedar and pine surrounding him as kisses were pressed into his hair. Jackson had always believed that the best cure for a bad day was to know people cared about you, and what better way to show you cared than to hug it out? And, well, maybe Mark wasn’t Jackson, but still.

Rolling his chair over, he carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. “You alright?” he asked. Stupid question, sure, but it seemed like the best opener. Yerin looked up, her pretty face blotchy with tears, and shook her head a definite no. Rather than speak, Mark did what Jackson would have in that moment: He held open his arms. To his surprise, the girl folded herself into his grasp and buried her face into his chest. Holding onto her, his grip loose, he pat her back as her tears soaked into his button-down. He could almost hear Jackson’s breathing in his ear.

Later Yerin would tell him that she had just gotten the call that her grandmother had died. She’d been too poor to make the flight home and was all alone in her grief. He had listened, offering what comfort he could, before helping her finish her project. That afternoon, as she went to leave, Yerin gave him one last hug. “I think you’re the only person who would even care,” she had murmured, “that I was so upset. Thank you. For being there.”

\---

There was not a day that went by without Mark being reminded of Jackson. He could see him in the collection of snapbacks hanging on the bedroom door; he could see him in his favorite chair by the window, soaking up the late spring sun; he could see him sprawled out in bed, whining for just another minute of cuddles before they began the day. But most of all, Mark could see Jackson in their friends. Their family.

BamBam had changed so much in the past year, Mark thought. Sitting across from the younger man in their favorited coffee shop, Mark could see the physical changes time had wrought: the sharpening of his jaw, how much taller he had grown, even the lithe muscles along his forearms. But that was not what had changed the most – not really. No, it was in BamBam’s eyes. The boy had always been so bright and mischievous, quick to crack a naughty joke, back when they had first become friends. Now there was a deep-set sadness, a heaviness, in his eyes that seemed so alien to who he had been. Mark understood. He imagined he was different from what he had been. Who he had been.

Reaching across the table, the blond startled his Thai friend by taking his hand. “Y’know, I don’t think Jackson would believe it,” he said, his voice soft. “You’ve been talking to me for twenty minutes and you haven’t made a single dirty joke. He’d think you were a changeling or something.”

BamBam laughed, sudden and bright. “I thought you hated my jokes,” he protested. “Maybe I was trying to be respectful or something.”

Looking into the redhead’s eyes, Mark managed a little smile. “I don’t think you have a respectful bone in your body, BamBam. You’re a terror.”

“Hey! I resent that!” the younger man squawked.

“You mean you resemble that,” Mark teased, grinning widely. And there, shining in BamBam’s eyes was the familiar light – returned, if dimmer. He could practically hear Jackson whining about how Mark was corrupting their friend by encouraging him. It made his smile grow a little. “Why don’t you see if the boys can do something next weekend? We’ll get drunk, sing off-key, and dance to girl group songs. Make a night of it.”

“Yeah, that sounds real good,” BamBam murmured, a soft smile finding its way onto his lips. He gave Mark’s hand a little squeeze. “I’ll let you know when would be good.”

\---

“Why does it always rain?” Mark complained, pulling his hood tight around his face. “I swear, it’s like a curse or something. It can be clear all the rest of the week, but today it rains like there’s no tomorrow.”

At his side, Jinyoung chuckled. “You say that every year,” he pointed out, looking at the man over the rim of his glasses.

Mark wrinkled his nose and reached over to push Jinyoung with one hand. “It’s tradition. You don’t mess with tradition.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Which is why you have to wear that awful reindeer sweater every Christmas. Because you’ve done it since college, and it doesn’t matter that it’s been twenty years you still do it.” Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “Tradition should get better fashion sense.”

“Well, you and your old man complaints can watch the baby,” Mark said, passing Coco over to the brunet. “I’m going to go and say hello.”

Jinyoung pretend to grumble as he took the fluffy little dog into his arms. But, the moment Mark was turned away, he pressed light kisses to the top of Coco’s head. Mark’s lips twitched into a little smile as he pretended to not notice. Moving down the familiar path, he at last came to a stop at his destination. Crouching down, he brushed his fingertips lightly over the cold stone. “Hey,” he murmured. “Happy fifteenth, you big lug.” His laughter was no longer choked – not like the first couple of years – but instead easy and light. “Jinyoung will come say hello soon, but you know how he is. Likes to give the first husband a few minutes before he ‘intrudes’ on our conversations. He’s ridiculous. I don’t even know why I love him, somedays.” He sighed a little. “Youngjae and Yerin are expecting, did I tell you that? They’re ridiculously cute. It’s a girl, I think. Youngjae wants to name it Jacqueline, but he and Yerin struggle to say the name. Might end up being a middle name – if they go that route. I thought you’d like a kid of theirs being named after you, though. And JB would’ve come today, but he’s in China for a business meeting. I swear he’s going to take over the world someday.” Mark chuckled. “But I guess I can’t complain. At least if he’s the evil overlord I’ll be well taken care of. I wouldn’t have bills anymore, so at least there’s that.”

His fingertips traced lightly over the familiar characters that formed one of his favorite names in the entire world: Jackson Wang. “I miss you,” he breathed. “And I love you. Maybe, if we’re lucky, someday… someday.” Unable to finish that thought, he let his head hang and stared at the flowers resting at the foot of the polished black stone. “Someday, Jackson. But for today… I’ll live the way you wanted me to.” Leaning forward, he pressed a light kiss to the top of the headstone, wishing it were soft black hair instead.

 

> When I die  
> Give what’s left of me away  
> To children  
> And old men that wait to die.  
>   
> And if you need to cry,  
> Cry for your brother  
> Walking the street beside you  
> And when you need me,  
> Put your arms  
> Around anyone  
> And give to them  
> What you need to give to me.  
>   
> I want to leave you something,  
> Something better  
> Than words  
> Or sounds.  
>   
> Look for me  
> In the people I’ve known  
> Or loved,  
> And if you cannot give me away,  
> At least let me live in your eyes  
> And not on your mind.  
>   
> You can love me most  
> By letting  
> Hands touch hands  
> By letting  
> Bodies touch bodies  
> And by letting go  
> Of children  
> That need to be free.  
>   
> Love doesn’t die,  
> People do.  
> So, when all that’s left of me  
> Is love,  
> Give me away


End file.
